


Applied Studies in Cannabis

by Marrrrrrr



Series: Britta/Troy [1]
Category: Community
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrrrrrr/pseuds/Marrrrrrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troy and Britta smoke weed.  Set during the period when the group is expelled from Greendale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the first part of a much longer Troy/Britta fic I'm working on. I wrote the first chapter about two or three months before the last two, which I wrote together about a week ago.

"Are you sure about this?" Britta asked again.

"Britta, for like the 300th time: yes. I'm an adult. If I'm allowed to drink why shouldn't I be able to do this?"

"Alright, I'm sorry," she answered, raising the joint to her lips, "but if you'd been on the receiving end of one of Shirley's rants about not spreading my 'sinful addictions to impressionable young children' you'd understand why I'm being a little hesitant here."

Troy's curiosity about marijuana had been peaked a couple of days earlier. He'd been coming back to the apartment with a 12-pack of beer for that day's pot luck when he'd spotted Britta, leaning against the post of a street lamp that illuminated the wispy cloud of smoke she'd just exhaled. At first, he'd thought that she'd gone back to cigarettes, maybe pushed by the stress of their recent expulsion, but the smell that wafted into his nose told a different story: Weed.

She'd been embarrassed, had babbled something about needing it for her appetite or something, but Troy wasn't judgmental. He'd asked if he could try a little, but she'd ground out what was left of the joint she'd been enjoying when she spotted him coming. They'd talked about it for a while. Troy had lots of questions, and by the time they'd made their way up to Troy, Abed, and Annie's apartment for the Group's gathering he'd extracted a vague promise to try it with him some time in the future. He thought he might have blown it when he said something about wanting to "try it with someone he trusted, you know, for the first time", but she'd just smiled mysteriously and looked away.

So here they were now. Annie had talked Abed into going to a matinee showing of "The Hunger Games." They'd be gone for a least a couple of hours, so Troy had called Britta over to collect on his promise.

"Shirley's not my mom," Troy said. After searching through her leather jacket's many pockets for a moment, Britta produced a disposable lighter.

"I'm pretty sure she thinks Reefer Madness is a documentary," she mumbled through the joint as she tried unsuccessfully to spark the flame on her lighter. "Fuck! I think it's empty."

"Hold on. Annie's got matches in her room for all those scented candles she keeps buying." Troy neglected to mention that the reason she had to keep buying new ones was that someone kept lighting them when she wasn't around. It wasn't his fault though. They smelt so nice…

Britta's eyes followed Troy's ass as he hurried away from the T.V. area and towards Annie's room, one eyebrow rising.  _No Britta,_  she thought to herself, shaking her head rapidly in an attempt to dislodge images of Troy in a certain tight-fitting black leotard out of her mind,  _he is OFF LIMITS_.

She snapped her head back around, hiding her lechery just in time as Troy bounded back out of Annie's room, matches held out triumphantly in front of him.

"Found 'em!" Troy cried, beaming broadly. He sat back down in the second recliner, pulling it over to be closer to the one Britta occupied. He pulled back the flap that read "Senior Kevin's!" , exposing the strike pad, and lit one of the matches. He studied Britta's face as she pulled in close to the flame, lowering the joint into it and taking a couple of experimental puffs. Once she knew it was lit, she pulled away and looked at Troy, considering him.

"Alright, you've never smoked a regular cigarette either, right? It's pretty simple. Just breathe it into your lungs and hold it there for a few seconds. Don't just hold it in your mouth, okay?" Britta assumed his natural impulse would be similar to hers when she had first partaken, way back in her sophomore year of high school.

Troy reached out and took the joint from Britta, his fingers brushing against hers in a way that made her heart flutter in spite of herself. He eyed it evenly, trying not to let the trepidation he was feeling enter into his eyes. It was longer and thinner than a cigarette, and a lot looser feeling than he'd expected.

"Don't wait too long," Britta warned, "Or we'll have to waste another of Annie's matches relighting it."

"Right," Troy said, bracing himself. Then he brought the joint to his lips and breathed in as hard as he could.

He could tell instantly that he had made a mistake, even before he saw Britta's painful wince. The smoke was far hotter than he'd imagined it being, and he felt his throat burn in protest.  _Water._  He leapt up and made a run for the kitchen sink. He hadn't even made it halfway before he erupted, doubling over in a coughing fit. Britta was right behind him, rubbing his back.

"Okay, sorry, that was sort of my fault," she said. "I should have warned you that the joint was going to burn pretty quickly. I packed it pretty lightly, you know, since it's your first time. Here, let me take that." She took the joint out of his hand. Thankfully he hadn't dropped it. She didn't want to be responsible for starting a fire in Troy's apartment. "Why don't you go lie down? I'll bring you some water."

Troy was still coughing, unable to speak, but he nodded. Straightening up, he slunk off towards the pillow fort.

When Britta followed him in a few moments later, glass of water in hand, Troy was laying on the bottom bunk staring at his hand with a sense of wonder painted on his face, slowly rotating his wrist back and forth.

"Well, I'd say you're probably done," she grinned, handing him the glass, which he took without looking up. "You want to head back into the living room, maybe show me one of those Inspector Spacetime DVDs Abed bought? I bet they're great stoned."

"No…" he responded slowly, taking a moment to sip his water before returning to the important work of studying his hand, "I'm pretty comfortable. Don't really want to move."

"You mind if I polish this off in here then?" she asked, holding up the half-finished joint.

"You ever think about how… like intricate we are Britta? Humans I mean? I just think about it… and my hand moves, all on its own. All the muscles and ligaments… I'm not even thinking about how they all have to work together to produce it. They just… do…"

"Oh yeah, you're definitely done," Britta said, plopping down on the opposite side of the bed. She'd brought the book of matches in with her, and quickly relit the joint. She closed her eyes as she inhaled, feeling the hot, thick smoke work its way down her throat to fill her lungs. She held it there, reveling in the fruity, almost citrusy taste of the marijuana until she finally expeled it through her nose and back into the cool air of Troy's room.

"I gotta be honest Troy; I was pretty surprised when you told me you'd never smoked pot before. I'd have thought a star quarterback would've had more experience with drugs. That's how it was at my high school. Not that I hung out with the football players. They were all douche bags." She took another drag off the joint.

"I think my highschool was a lot more… conservative than yours," he responded, frowning. Riverside High… he'd been one of those douche bags. Strutting around campus, oblivious to the existence of anyone but himself.

Oh he'd known other people existed, in the sense that they'd take up space, sure. But not in the sense that they had concerns and feelings of their own. He'd looked at other people as either tools to get what he wanted or as obstacles that stood in his way. He'd had "friends", being the most successful part of your school's football program tended to make you popular. But these relationships had been entirely one way; all the love and adoration flowing into him, never out. That applied doubly so to the romantic relationships that he'd had.

And towards the people he wasn't close to, he had been ever worse. If he hadn't flat out ignored them, like he had poor Annie, then he was stepping on them just to prove what a big man on campus he was. He'd been pretty good at that too, at sizing up a kid and knowing just what to say to get an emotional reaction out of them.

There'd been one boy, Doug Parsons, who'd made the unforgivable mistake of bumping into Troy while he was making his way down the central hallway, hangers on from the football and cheerleading teams in tow. It'd been an accident obviously, and Doug's apology, while mumbled and made without eye contact, sounded sincere. But Troy hadn't cared. He took in Doug's greasy hair, his baggy, poorly matching clothes, and said: "Why don't you got take a shower, faggot?"

That had gotten a pretty big laugh from his posse. Troy didn't know whether Doug was really gay, in fact judging by the furtive glances he'd seen him give one of the cheerleaders in his group, he strongly suspected he wasn't. But it didn't really matter.

Doug had looked at Troy like he'd slapped him across the face, tears forming in his eyes. He took off the opposite way down the hall, running into the men's bathroom. Chad, the team's wide receiver slapped Troy on his back, guffawing, but Troy's smile was half-hearted at best. Why had he done that?

And where was he now? Expelled from a second-rate community college, which he'd only attended in the first place because he'd been too scared to face a couple of college scouts? And even when he'd been going to Greendale, he'd never applied himself. He didn't even know his GPA, but it couldn't have been great, given the number of classes he'd blown off. He was worse than any of the people he'd ever bullied: not just a loser, but a loser who knew, deep in his heart, that if he was given just a little bit of social power he would take it and use it to hurt others for his own gratification. Hadn't he proven that in his stupid pillow fight with Abed? One crack about being dumb, not even dumb but just "insecure about his level of intelligence", and he'd unleashed the most hurtful things he could think of. He was the worst.

Britta was saying something. With a start he realized that she'd been talking for a while now. God, he couldn't even get over himself for five minutes to listen to what she had to say? What kind of a friend was he? No wonder she thought he was a loser. He tried to concentrate.

"-whole thing is just one giant spectacle to fool the masses into thinking we actually have any say in how we're governed. I mean, Mitt Romney? Really? He's really the best they can do? And don't get me started on Obama. He passes a healthcare bill written by the very industries he's supposed to be reforming and sends a bunch of armed thugs to assassinate an old man and dump his body in the ocean and we're just supposed to- Oh my god, Troy? Are you crying?"

Britta sat up, her expression switching from self-satisfaction to worry.

"Oh God you're freaking out aren't you? And you've been freaking out this whole time while I've been rambling on, haven't you? God, I am the worst drug buddy in the world!" She crawled over to his side of the bed and leaned over to brush the tears off his cheeks.

"Shhh…" she said, pulling herself up behind him and cradling his head in her arms, "It's okay. You're just having a little bit of a panic attack. Everything's gonna be fine. It happens to lots of people when they smoke weed. It's happened to me, plenty of times. Just try to breathe."

Troy noticed then that his breathing had become quick and ragged. He was gulping in air in long, uneven gasps, barely drawing any into his lungs because he was sobbing it back out just as quickly. He breathed in deeply through his nose, and tried to let it out at the same pace. After a few repetitions he'd established an even rhythm. His crying had stopped, and he was beginning to feel a bit better.

"That's good," she said, stroking his hair. She was looking down at him with a look that was halfway between concern and guilt. "I'm sorry Troy, I should have been paying closer attention and not ranting about… whatever it is I was talking about. I tend to do that when I get high. It's why I tend to do it alone, nowadays. Why don't you tell me what was bothering you? It might help."

 _Yes,_  Troy thought,  _tell her. Tell her so she'll know what a bad person you are. Tell her so she'll hate you like she should, instead of just pitying you._

"I was just thinking about… what an asshole I'd been in high school. There was this kid, Doug. I called him a faggot. For no real reason other than it'd make a bunch of other assholes I thought I was friends with laugh." He paused, waiting for her to attack him, for her to call him a homophobe and storm out of the apartment, leaving him alone. But she seemed to be waiting for him to continue, "And that's where I peaked. I peaked in high school Britta, and I didn't even have that much fun there. I was just some dumb asshole who could throw a football a long way. And I'm never going to be anything better."

She didn't say anything for a while, but she keeps running her fingers through his hair. Troy closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. Her touch leaves a kind of tingling feeling on his scalp in its wake.

"Troy," she said finally, starting slowly. She knew that this was important, and so she tried to focus through the haziness finishing the joint had brought. Troy needed her right now. "I know you. I know you're not a jerk, at least not anymore. You're one of the kindest, most empathic people I know. And yes," she said quickly, seeing that he was about to interrupt, "I know I didn't know you in high school. Maybe we wouldn't have gotten along if I had. But guess what? Every teenager is a shithead. I know I was, and I wasn't even popular. We're born into this stupid world, and we have all these feelings and wants and needs. And as we grow, they start to run up against other people before we even fully understand them. Before we understand ourselves. We don't come out of the womb with some kind of manual that teaches us how to navigate around them, we have to learn that. And along the way we make a lot of mistakes. We hurt other people, sometimes accidently, and yes, sometimes deliberately. And that's hard to live with, I know, believe me. But barring shutting ourselves off from the world and becoming hermits up in some mountain, there's no alternative except to grow and learn and to try and do better. And like I said, from my perspective, you've done that. Really, really well."

Troy looked up at her. Her hair was falling freely as she looked down at him, curtaining his face in gold. Her eyes were full of compassion, and he felt a familiar feeling stirring in his chest, near his heart. The impulse to ignore it, to delay again, like he always does, reared up in him as well, but this other feeling finally overwhelmed it.

"Britta," he asked slowly, "Why don't you like me?"

She frowned. "Troy, haven't you been listening to me? I do like you. I wouldn't be here, hanging out with you if I didn't."

"No, sorry, I mean… why don't you like me… the way I like you?" Troy was hesitant at first, but spoke with more assurance as he continued. Better to get this all out in the open, and let the chips fall where they may. Even if it meant not feeling her body pressed up against his like this anymore. "I think about you all the time Britta. I'll see something on the street, or… or hear a song on the radio and it'll remind me of you and… I'll smile. And no one who's with me will understand why I'm so happy. But I will."

Britta felt a deep stab in her heart. Is this what her behavior was doing? Spending time with Troy, getting close to him, leading him on while suppressing her own deeper feelings for him? She was hurting him. This had to stop.

"Troy," she said sadly, "I think about you too. That same way. I have for a while I think." She saw him start to smile, and rushed on to explain, "But it's not that simple! I'm so much older than you. And Shirley's right, I'm a bad influence. Look how much pain I've caused you, not just tonight with the drugs, but obviously you've been keeping this bottled up for a while. It can't happen. As much as I'd like it to, I don't deserve-"

But he hadn't stopped smiling. He reached up and caressed her cheek, cutting her off.

"Britta," he said simply, his smile growing wider "we both know that's bullshit."

And then he's kissing her, and she's returning his kiss with a passion that startles her. She pulls him out of his reclined position against her and turns him, pulling him into an embrace. Her right hand comes to rest at the small of his back while her left snakes around his neck to pull him tighter against her. She feels him reach under her shirt to cup one of her naked breasts (it was laundry day for maybe the third day in a row) and she arches her back, pressing into his palm, opening her legs to provide him access-

And then she pulled back, breaking the kiss. She panted heavily while she rests her forehead against his.

"Troy, hold on. Wait."

She could see the confusion, and maybe a little bit of pain, in his eyes, so she reached out to return his gesture from before, cupping one of his cheeks in her hand.

"It's not that I don't want to. I do. A lot. I've thought about it, the two of us together, sharing our bodies" she blushed, adding to the flush that their kissing had already brought to her face. "But I've done a lot of things that I've regretted, when intoxicants and my libido get mixed together. So, even though I'd like to… explore… these feelings with you, I think we should wait. Until we're both clear headed."

"I understand," said Troy, who still looked a little disappointed but was smiling again now. "I'm glad you stopped us, actually. It shows we're both working on… self-actualizing."

She returned his smile, and pulled him in for a warm hug.

"Can we… at least stay like this? For a little while?" he whispered into her ear, not breaking the hug.

"Sure," Britta answered, "I'd like that. Scooch over."

Troy made room for her, and put his arm over her as she lay down. They stayed like that for a while, silent except for the sounds of their breath.

#

"I don't understand. Why did they need dependent populations to mine coal and grow food if they have to power to make giant mind controlled dogs just pop out of the ground?" Abed asked as he and Annie re-entered the apartment an hour or so later.

"Abed, you're over thinking it! And anyway, it makes more sense in the books. Why couldn't you have just enjoyed the movie?" Annie sounded a little exasperated as she made her way over to her room.

"I told you, I did like it. And I like over thinking things."

Annie paused in front of the blanket fort. She decided to take a peek inside, to see if Troy was there or whether he'd left the apartment while they were gone.

"Awwww!" she whispered suddenly. "Abed! Come here!"

Abed made his way over, curious to see what has Annie excited. Inside he saw Troy and Britta, huddled together on the bottom bunk, sound asleep. Troy was spooning Britta, their hands locked together over Britta's abdomen. Their chests rose and fell in the same rhythm, and both looked happy, at peace.

Annie looked up at her friend, remembering his reticence during their first Dreamatorium session.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine." He smild down at her and took her hand in his. "Come on. Let's not wake them up."

Annie returned his smile, but it faltered as she sniffed the air.

"Does it smell weird in here to you?"


	2. Chapter 2

He has a dream about her.  And it’s a good one.  Much nicer than the dreams he usually dreams.

It’s cold, in his dream, and he’s climbing.  A ladder, maybe, or a really rickety case of stairs, because he has the constant fear that something’s going to break and he’s going to tumble off into the darkness.  He can hear the strains of something off in the distance, something that makes him feel warm in his chest.  He pulls himself up the last wrung of the ladder, and he’s on the top of the decaying old tower.  And he can see her.

Britta’s sitting there, staring off sadly into the distance.  She looks wistful.  Her skin’s pale, so pale she seems like she’s radiating light off her.  As if she’s a snowdrift at high noon, with the sun beating down on her.  A snowdrift about to melt.  He reaches over and touches her shoulder, and she looks up at him.  She sees it’s him, and smiles.

And he can see the smile reaches her eyes, makes them brighten in the way they do when she’s happy.  In the way that makes his heart beat fast and hard in his chest when he sees it.  She’s about to say something.  Maybe his name?

#

Troy’s eyes opened.  He blinked several times, and wiped a line of drool off his cheek.  His head felt… foggy.  Heavy, and thick as soup.  He reached next to him on the bed, and was disappointed not to feel anyone there.

 _Idiot,_  he berated himself.   _It was just a dream. Though I guess I can probably just blame that on the weed…_

His eyes widened.  Weed.  Britta.  Here.  Feelings.  Kissing.  Boob.  Feelings.

And she was gone.  She’d bailed.  He’d gotten high, vomited his dumb, dumb thoughts all over her.  And of course, she’d politely cleaned them both off, tucked him into bed, and left.   She was a good friend.  A friend.  And he’d abused that friendship.

His heart was beating quicker and quicker.  He tried to breath, but it was ragged and shallow.  He sat up quickly, slamming his head into the bed above him, forgetting that he’d fallen asleep on the bottom bunk.

“FUCK!” he shouted, frustrated by the sudden, sharp spike of pain throbbing through his skull.  It wasn’t fucking fair, any of it.  He hated his dick.

“Troy?” Annie’s voice called from outside the blanket fort.  “Are you okay in there?”

He peeked his head out the blanket fort’s opening.  There were three people out there, gathered around their dining table.  On the far side from him, Annie and Abed flanked each other.  Annie had her arms crossed over her chest, but was looking at him with a worried expression.  Abed looked passive.  And maybe a little… annoyed?  It was so hard to tell with him sometimes, especially lately.  Ever since he’d started to go into the Dreamatorium alone, more and more.

On the side of the table closest to him, twisting around in her seat to look at him, was Britta.  The look on her face made him wipe at his eyes, to try and hide any signs that he’d been distressed.  She looked so guilty…

“I uh, hit my head getting out of bed,” he said in answer to Annie’s question.  “It hurt.”  It was true, too.  He rubbed the back of his head as he walked over and sat down next to Britta.  “What’s going on?”

Britta reached out and squeezed his hand under the table.  Her hand was small, and soft.  He remembered how it felt, rubbing against the back of his neck as she moaned into his mouth.  He shifted in his seat, attempting to move his growing erection into a more comfortable position.

“We were just discussing how inappropriate it is for Britta to bring marijuana into this apartment,” Annie said, her facial expression shifting to match her body language as she turned the “Formidable Annie” dial up to 11.

“I’m sorry,” Britta said, and there was real, deep sadness in her voice, but she was looking at him when she said it.

“Hold on,” Troy said.  “I asked her to bring it.  And it’s not that big a deal!  Britta’s got a card.  It’s all legal.”

“It smells weird,” Abed said. 

“Then open a window!” Troy shouted, feeling heat rush into his face.  He knew he shouldn’t be getting this angry at his roommates, that he was responding emotionally, but the look he’d seen on Britta’s face when he’d come out of the blanket fort made those facts seem a lot less important.

“And you should have been more considerate of Annie’s back-story,” Abed continued

 _Oh right,_  Troy thought, feeling suddenly guilty himself,  _NA_.  Britta ran her thumb along the back of his hand, which made him feel a bit better.

“Annie, I’m really sorry-” he started

“Just-” she said, holding up a hand to interrupt him,” don’t do it in the apartment?  I’m not going to judge either of you, or tell you how to live your lives.  Just not here, okay?”  He could tell she wasn’t just trying to guilt or manipulate him.  The earnestness he saw in her eyes told him that wasn’t the case.  This place, this home she’d built with him and Abed, was a sanctuary for her and he’d darkened it with the shadows of her past failures.

He glanced next to him.  Britta looked even more despondent, so he squeezed her hand.  It had made him feel better when she’d done it to him, after all.  She looked down at her lap.

“You guys!” Annie said, her expression softening.  “Now I feel bad!  It’s really not that big a deal!  Like I said, just don’t do it again.”  Abed’s face remained fixed and unmoving.  Troy’s phone vibrated, silently, in his pocket.

Britta stood, slipping her hand out of his.  “I won’t Annie, I promise.  I’m sorry I wasn’t more respectful of your boundaries.”  She grabbed her purse from the table, dropping her cell phone into it before slinging it over her shoulder.  “I’ll see you guys at the next pot luck.  Uh, dinner.  You know what I mean.  Annie, Abed.”  She turned her head to look down at him, and a bit of pink rushed into her cheeks.  “Troy.”

He didn’t want to let her go.  He wanted to hold her and never stop.  He wanted to study her perfect face forever: her beautiful, pointed little nose, her full, inviting lips, her big piercing blue eyes that were staring at him with a mixture of anticipation, excitement, and fear.  He wanted to finish what they’d started earlier.

But she seemed like she wanted a little bit of space.  And after thinking she’d run out on him without a word, he owed her a little bit of trust.

“Goodbye, Britta,” he said, trying not to let the anxiety that was eating away at the lining of his heart enter into his voice.  He walked her to the door, and she hugged him.  She was soft, and warm, and smelt good.  She didn’t pull away as his erection pressed into her, and he could feel the heat pulsating between her legs.

“Check your texts,” she whispered into his ear, quietly enough that Annie and Abed couldn’t hear from the other room.  Then she pulled away, and was gone.

He tried to stay calm as he rushed into the blanket fort, his heart thudding in his chest.  He pulled out his phone with trembling hands.  He knew,knew, from the way Britta had held him that it would be good news.  He felt giddy, happier than he had since before they’d been expelled.  And terrified.

**Britta Perry: parked around corner cum find me**


	3. Chapter 3

“I am the biggest idiot on the entire God-damned planet!” Britta shouted, her voice loud in the tight confines of her car.  “FUCK!”  She pounded on the side of her steering wheel, hoping to take her anger out on it.  It didn’t work.  She kept thinking about the look on Troy’s face as he’d emerged from the blanket fort, the tears that had wet his dark, beautiful cheeks.  She could imagine how he’d felt, when he’d woken to find himself alone, and it made her want to stab out her own eyes.

After waking up in the blanket fort she’d decided, because she was a moron, that it would be a good idea to make Troy something to eat before he woke up.  She knew how much he loved food normally, and it would have been his first experience with the munchies.  And for some reason, the idea of him waking up and her being there, sandwich or what the fuck ever in hand  _like a total fucking girlfriend_  had made her brain feel happy.  Because her brain was a stupid piece of shit.

Britta screamed at the top of her lungs, glad to have a private place to vocalize the swirling storm of emotions raging across the surface of her mind.

She hadn’t counted on getting waylaid by Annie and Abed.  She’d assumed at first that they’d somehow known how close she and Troy had come to fucking.  That they were going to tell her to leave Troy alone, that they weren’t going to let her Britta his heart.  She’d been totally shocked when Annie’d brought up the pot.  Between that guilt trip, and the way Abed had kept staring at her with that god damned look in his eye, and the way Troy had tried to defend her… she’d needed to get out of there.

Still, it hadn’t been all bad.  She smiled as she’d thought about Troy’s hardness jutting into her.  About the way his skin had felt against hers, as he’d caressed her breast.  About how soft his lips had been, and how much she wanted to feel them explore her every inch of her.  Britta shivered.  She hoped he’d listen to her, and read that god damned text she’d sent him.

Almost as if on cue, Troy rounded the corner in front of her.  She waved at him, desperately.   _He knows what your car looks like, dumbass_ , she berated herself.  She grabbed her leather jacket out of the seat next to her and threw it into the back.  Troy jogged over to her car, climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door behind him.

“I’m sorr-“  He lunged at her, pulling her into a deep kiss before she could even get the words out.  Surprised, it took her a moment to react, but soon she was kissing him back.  She felt all the tension, all the anxiety that had built up in her ever since she’d woken up release as their tongues met.  She heard him moan and the sound of it, the idea that she was making him make noises he couldn’t control, made her slick with desire.

She wanted more.  She wanted to feel him, tight against her.  She wanted to feel his heart beat, wanted to know how excited she made him.  But she couldn’t do that like this, all twisted around in the driver’s seat.  She pushed against Troy, forcing him back into his headrest, and lifted her leg up, intending to swing up over onto his lap.

But, of course, because she was Britta Perry, she slammed her knee into the dividing bar between driver and passenger seats instead.

“SHIT!” she shouted, more out of frustration than out of pain.  But concern flicked across Troy’s face, even before she swore.

“Are you okay?” he asked.  She felt a shard of annoyance spike through her.  Of course she was fine!  Did he really think she was so fragile?  But then his hand was on her knee, softly stroking it, and arousal pushed indignation from her mind.  “Do… do you want me to take a look?”

She grinned, pulling the bar under her seat and pushing it as far back away from the steering wheel as it would go.  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt...”  Troy clambered over the parking break, nestling in the space she’d cleared out for him.  She reclined her seat, lying back and unzipping her jeans.  “It does sting…”

“I don’t want to leave you in pain,” Troy whispered huskily, pushing the edges of her shirt up and kissing her belly.  She felt her eyes flutter shut, and she moaned.  She hadn’t expected things to escalate so quickly.  She’d thought they’d drive back to her place, take their time, “explore each other’s bodies” or whatever hacky phrase her cannabis-addled mind had come up with earlier that day.

She wasn’t going to complain about the route things had taken, though.  Not when she felt Troy’s breath, hot and wet, against her stomach.

Britta lifted her hips up, and Troy helped tug her pants down and over her knees, revealing the patch of reddening skin where she’d banged her leg.  It would probably bruise, but not badly.  Troy made a sympathetic noise when he saw it, and reached out to massage her calf.  His lips brushed her wound, ever so slightly.  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she breathed, rolling her shoulders down her back.  She reached out, grabbing the back of his head and running her fingers through his thick, spongy hair.  “Keep going.  Higher.”  She kicked off one of her shoes as Troy obeyed enthusiastically, kissing his way up her leg.  When he reached her panties, he stopped, hesitating.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning.  She’d hoped, based on his enthusiasm up to this point, that he’d be less resistant towards cunnilingus than some of her (taller, more conceited) ex-lovers had been.

“I’ve, um-” He looked away.  “I’ve never done this before.  Gone down on a woman, I mean.”

“Troy…” she said, bringing her hand around to cup his cheek.  She could see how embarrassed he was.  “I don’t care.  I mean, it makes it hotter if anything actually.”  She grinned.  “I’m breaking you in.”

“Will…” He still didn’t meet her gaze.  “Will you tell me what to do?”

Britta had never seen him quite this bashful, which was a pity because it was incredibly adorable.  She turned his face, forcing him to look at her.  She tried to straighten out her smile, not wanting him to think she was laughing at him, but she couldn’t keep the joy she’d felt surging in her chest ever since she’d seen him come around that corner off her face.

“Take off my panties,” she told him.  He tugged at them without breaking eye contact, dropping them next to her jeans and shoes on the bottom of the car floor.  Britta reached under her shirt, massaging her left breast as she bit her lip.  Her pussy was out in the open, exposed.  She thought about Annie and Abed, sitting up there in that apartment building to their right, completely unaware, and shivered.

“Open it up with your fingers.  Go ahead,” she told him, rubbing the back of his neck.  She squirmed against the soft fabric of her car seat as he spread her lips apart.  Troy leaned in, inspecting her, and the feeling of his breath, light and warm against her velvety skin, made her moan.  He planted a soft kiss right on her opening.

“You have a very pretty cunt, Britta.”  Something about those words, the way the softness and the harshness of them mingled together in her ears, flipped a switch in her brain.  She’d waited a long time for this, denied how much she wanted it to happen.  She wasn’t going to wait anymore.  She used the hand on the back of his neck to push him forward into her crotch.  He offered no resistance, descending on her, thrusting his tongue into her opening.  She gasped, the contact making her writhe back into her seat.

Troy was eager as he pumped his tongue in and out of her, but sloppy.  And while she appreciated his enthusiasm, she wanted him to exercise a bit more finesse. 

“Relax your tongue,” she told him.  “And use your whole mouth, don’t be afraid to exploooOOOHHH-”  Britta moaned as he took her labia in between his lips, sucking on it and making her buck into his face with wanton abandon.  She shut her eyes, her hand grabbing a handful of his hair to steady herself.  Troy redoubled his efforts, alternating between her lips; kissing, sucking, licking them as she felt a familiar ball of heat start to build up in her.  Troy was moaning now, too, and opening her eyes Britta could see him rubbing the bulge in his jeans.

“Take out your cock,” Britta said, starting to get into telling him what to do.  There was a kind of rush she felt, knowing that she turned him on so much that he’d do anything she asked.  “I want to see it.”

He unzipped his pants and fished his penis out of his boxers.  Britta eyed it appreciatively.  She’d snuck enough peaks at it over the years, seen the shape of it pressed against the denim of his jeans or, when she was lucky, the skintight fabric of a certain black leotard.  But seeing it in the flesh now, dark and thick and jutting out at her was far, far better.  He was so  _hard_  for her.  She pushed her cunt harder into his face as he continued to lap away at her.

“Play with yourself for me,” she commanded.  She wanted to hear him moan again, wanted to feel the vibration of his voice against her clit.  Britta watched as he pumped himself vigorously, following the motion of his fist as it slid up and down the length of his shaft.  She wished it could be her cunt wrapped around his prick instead of his fingers, but she hadn’t brought any condoms.  Just a few scant hours ago, she didn’t think this was ever going to happen outside of her imagination.

She felt hot.  It was sweltering in her car now, as they worked furiously to pleasure each other, and sweat was starting to make her shirt cling to her body.  She let go of Troy to remove it, releasing his neck, and he whined at the loss of her touch.  She cooed sympathetically, wrapping her legs around his head as she threw her shirt into the back seat.  He seemed to like that, and the more pressure she applied to him the harder he pressed his tongue into her nub.  Britta kneaded her breasts, feeling heat buildup in her chest as she played with her nipples.  He was working her clit pretty consistently now, draping his tongue over it in long, even strokes, and she felt the tension in her pelvis start to spike.  She was at her breaking point.

“Look at me!” she snapped urgently, sounding a little meaner than she’d intended.  But judging by what she saw in Troy’s eyes as he stared into hers, the look of rapture in them, she guessed that he didn’t mind.

“Oh god!” she cried, feeling a shudder run down her spine.  She could see the pride, the sense of accomplishment in his face.  “TROY!”  She felt herself spasm uncontrollably as her body was wracked with pleasure.  Her toes curled.  Her back arched.  Her thighs dug deeper into the sides Troy’s head, and he continued to lick into her even as her walls tensed and contracted around his tongue.  Soon the pleasurable sensations he was drawing out of her edged over into pain as she felt herself becoming over stimulated, and she pulled away from him, collapsing back into her seat.

She lay there, panting, for a moment.  She was dimly aware of Troy climbing up next to her, and she rolled onto her side, sighing contently as he spooned her.  His hands roamed over her naked body, gently rubbing and squeezing.  To her complete and utter lack of surprise, he seemed particularly interested in her breasts.  She giggled as he pressed them together and lifted them, over and over again.

“Britta,” he said imploringly, his voice heavy and swollen with need. He pressed his erection gently into the small of her back.

 _Oh, right,_  she thought.  “Can… can you wait until we get to my apartment?” she asked, turning her head around to look at him.  She pressed back against him, rubbing at him with her ass.  “I didn’t bring any condoms.”

“I need to come so  _bad_ ,” he whispered, his lips lightly brushing her ear.  “I need you to make me come, Britta.”

“Shhhhhh,” she said, placing a finger on his lips.  She shifted them, turning Troy onto his back and sitting in his lap.  She slid down so that his cock was jutting out from between her thighs, his base just barely parting the swollen folds of her pussy.  She grabbed his rod, pulling it towards her and rubbing her pelvis up and down its length as she squeezed her slick inner thighs against him.  “Do you like that?” she asked, looking at him again.

He answered her question by kissing her again.  She moaned into his mouth as she pressed her clit into the thick edifice of his cock.  Troy grabbed her hips, thrusting up into the hole she’d made for him, and she squeezed her thighs together as tightly as she could, increasing the pressure of his cock against her mound.

“You’re so fucking good,” he said, his mouth leaving hers and kissing as much of her as it could find: her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her shoulders.  “I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long.”

“You fantasized about- mmmmf- this specifically?” she asked, moaning as he licked along the side of her neck.  “You couldn’t just imagine me up some birth control?”

He laughed, the sound becoming a high, desperate groan as his cock leapt between her legs, spurting cum in three short, intense contractions.  It landed all over her belly and chest, warm and sticky.  Troy rubbed it into her skin, his hands roaming over her body again as he kissed the back of her neck.  She whimpered as his cock shriveled and the delicious push against her cunt faded away.  As much as she enjoyed Troy’s playfulness, she needed relief.

 _Condoms_ , she decided.

“Get up, Troy,” she said, grabbing the headrest of the passenger side seat and lifting herself off him.  He grabbed her, not wanting to let her go.

“But I wanna cuddle,” he whined.

She turned, laying against him and pressing her breasts into his chest.  “Troy,” she said in a lilting, high voice.  “If you let me drive us to my apartment, I will do things to your dick with my pussy that your little high school girlfriends would have been too scared to even  _read_ about.  I will make you cum harder than you have ever cum in your life.  I will help you explore every nook and cranny of your sexuality.  And I do mean everycranny.”  She leaned in, whispering into his ear now.  “I think we both know you’re into butt stuff.”

That seemed to encourage him.

#

Abed watched as Britta’s car finally pulled away, driving off in the direction of her apartment.  He sighed.

Annie looked up as he exited the Dreamatorium, laying down copy of Anna Karenina on her armrest and frowning at him.  “Where’s Troy?” she asked.

“He said he was going to the store,” Abed repeated.

“Oh,” she said, picking her book back up.  “I thought you guys were together.”

He didn’t say anything to that.


End file.
